


Pink

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human/Troll Society, F/M, Secret Crush, Sexual Fantasy, caste system
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-04
Updated: 2014-02-04
Packaged: 2018-01-11 03:42:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1168258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s even more idiotic because almost all of your fantasies have to do with how utterly pink she is—pink eyes, pink bubblegum, pink mini skirts and frilly lace panties and pink skin, flushed with arousal. And the appeal is that she’s supposed to be higher than you, higher on the caste system; you’re a mutant blood, of fucking course, and for an heiress, a seadweller, someone as high up as she is (would be) to be with you? Outrageous and, for some reason, ridiculously hot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pink

**Author's Note:**

> [heavy breathing]

She’s all pink, pink everywhere, her entire body flushed, cheeks redder than anything, and she stares up at you with pink pink pink eyes, an _entire_ _caste system_ above you, and damn if it’s not taboo as hell—and hot as fuck, regardless.

Blonde hair falls in her line of sight and she has to pull away slightly to brush the hair out of her face; you hook it behind her ears, and she just smiles against you, doing that thing with her tongue that sends shivers up your spine. Her hands are cold, with slender fingers tapping against your thigh to the beat of some Fall Out Boy song she’d played from her iPod—that’s her favorite band, of course, and you don’t mind it if it means getting off—and her nails are painted black, a stark contrast against your gray skin, flushed red, cherry red.

She pulls away, a trail of spit mixed with genetic material following, and your bulge wiggles at the loss of contact, wanting her mouth back, and you groan. She has to take her hands off your thighs to crawl forward and sit on your lap. You kiss her immediately, and she wraps her arms around your neck—pink, pale skin against gray. She ruts against you, grinds down on your lap; she’s still wearing underwear, but the direct stimulation to your bulge makes you hiss through your teeth.

“Shit,” she mumbles, pulling away from the kiss and stopping her movement, “did that…shit, did that hurt or anything, KK?”

You bite your lip and shake your head, trying to grind against her again, only frustrated at the lack of contact right now. “No, fuck, no, that’s…fine. Shit. Better than fine.”

The blonde smiles wide, all white teeth and dark lipstick, and then she’s grinding again, faster, harder, until you’re both moaning, and her head rolls back, mouth parted, so you kiss her again. She manages to wiggle out of her bra and panties, breasts perky and flushed pink, pink, so much _pink,_ and she’s rubbing against your bulge again, free of any cloth and _fuck._

“Fuck, Karkitty, I…” Her eyes are shut closed tightly in pleasure, movement becoming erratic and out of beat with the music, “I’m gonna—“

* * *

 “KK!”

“What!” You nearly fall out of your desk.

Sollux grins. “You were daydreaming again.” He raises an eyebrow, looking amused, before sitting back down in his desk next to yours, and you stutter to reply.

“Sh-shut up, nookfucker!” Upon realizing what you said, you back peddle, “I-I mean, uh…”

He snickers at you, and suddenly the room is too quiet. You look up to see the whole class straining their necks back to see you where you sit, usually unnoticed, in the back of the room, and the teacher is staring at you. You avoid eye contact and glare at Sollux instead as the teacher tells you off.

“Is there something you boys want to share with the class?” He says.

Sollux shakes his head along with you, although he’s still snickering. “No thir.”

“I’ll see you both in detention then.”

You groan and shoot Sol another death-glare. If looks could kill…

When you turn your head back around to pay attention to the lesson, your eyes meet fuchsia pink ones, wide, curious, and vaguely amused, circled in black eyeliner with thick lashes that blink once, twice, while you stare back, before she turns around again, and you swear she was blushing. You fidget in your seat, blushing too, and you silently thank God nobody had noticed your boner.

* * *

When the end of the day comes, Sol has already told four of your other friends about your “daydreams” (as he’d been the only one to notice your, uh, arousal), and you’d punched him at least five times to get him to _be quiet_. He only snickered, and Aradia laughed when you socked him in the stomach as he tried to retell the story, but she got up from her seat at the lunch table and kissed him all better. You rolled your eyes; as much as you love romance and shit, you don’t always appreciate watching your friends make out, especially when one of them is being a total _dick_.

He conveniently forgot to mention that he got detention too, so you made sure to bring it up in front of his matesprit; said girl gave him a look and immediately said he would receive no kisses for the rest of the day. When he complained, she reminded him that they had plans that afternoon and his detention interfered with them. He apologized, so she forgave him, but still refused contact. It was your turn to snicker when he grumbled about it.

He sits two seats over from you in detention, because the teacher makes him, saying something about how you two always “get in to trouble” when around each other—which is true, of course, but it still bothers you.

You think it’s all going to be fine, until a familiar blonde walks in a couple minutes after you’ve gotten settled and sits down a seat over and in front of you. She grins at the teacher and makes some snide remark; he only rolls his eyes and tells her to be quiet. She says, “Sure thing, piggy pea,” and the teacher glares at her, mumbles something about appropriate ways to address an adult, but otherwise makes no comment.

She settles in and pulls headphones and her iPod out, turning on some music and continuing to tap her foot to the beat. The teacher leaves the room and doesn’t come back. There are only a few other kids in there besides you, her, and Sollux, and Sol keeps sending you looks, wiggling his eyebrows. He’s one of the only people that know about your weird crush on her. You shoot him the bird, mouth “fuck off,” and pull your own headphones out. He laughs to himself quietly. You see her glance at him a couple times, but not at you.

You begin to wonder if she _does_ listen to Fall Out Boy like you’d, ahem, imagined. Does she know who they are at all? Or maybe you were right, and it’s her favorite band of all time; maybe she’s listening to them right now. She seems like the type of person to listen to them.

But she seems like a lot of things, and you’ve found very few of them to be true, so you doubt how accurate your assumptions actually are.

Maybe she’s nothing like you imagine. Maybe she’s not sweet and tender, all parted lips and cold hands and little sighs of pleasure; she could be rough and wild, all biting lips and warm hands and loud moans. You’re not entirely sure which one you like more, but either way, you know that if you keep thinking about it, you’ll get all hot and bothered again.

You think she glances back at you a couple times, but you’re not sure, and you’re too nervous to check or make eye contact, so you pull your homework out and attempt to get work done. When that doesn’t do much, you start doodling, and dammit, there’s ones of her—nothing creepy, mind you, just little doodles of her in your own art style, laughing, maybe, and you sigh to yourself. Fuck your life, you think, and fuck how creepy you are. You’ve only ever talked to her, like, _three times,_ and you’ve had at least twice that many fantasies.

It’s even more idiotic because almost all of them have to do with how utterly _pink_ she is—pink eyes, pink bubblegum, pink mini skirts and frilly lace panties and pink skin, flushed with arousal. And the appeal is that she’s supposed to be higher than you, higher on the caste system; you’re a mutant blood, of fucking course, and for an _heiress,_ a _seadweller,_ someone as _high up_ as she is (would be) to be with you? Outrageous and, for some reason, ridiculously hot.

She’s not even a _troll_ though—she’s just a human girl who did an English project with you earlier in the year. Just a human girl who’s pretty much the only one that doesn’t treat you worse than the trolls do. Maybe she’s just not educated about troll society, or maybe she just hasn’t caught on to your mutant blood—either way, she’s always been very nice to you, sweet smiles and clever grins, and sometimes she lets you copy her science homework if you didn’t get to finish it the night before. She’s a genius, you found out, and yet she doesn’t gloat, doesn’t act like it. She’s a genius. You share five classes with her, and she exchanges hacking codes with Sollux sometimes, and you see her talking to Aradia on occasion; she nicknamed the rust-blood “Dia” and said girl grins at the name and calls her “Rox” back.

You sigh to yourself and can’t help when your eyes wander back to her. It’s not hard to stare, since she’s at the perfect place to watch discreetly (God, you hate yourself, you’re such a creep) and she’s tapping her pencil against the desk, and her small heels click rhythmically. The teacher still isn’t back.

Half an hour passes, and she changes the songs a couple times, you think, and her pencil flies across the room on accident. She huffs to herself and stands up, the chair squeaking as she does so, and wow that’s a, uh, short miniskirt. You blush when she leans down to pick it up and look away; Sollux catches your eye and points to her, being the creep he is.

The teacher keeps leaving and coming back in the room periodically. Sol sets his pen down and leans back in his chair, putting his arms behind his head.

“Hey, Lalonde?” he calls. She pulls her headphones out but doesn’t look at him, sitting back down in her desk and crossing her legs all lady-like.

“Whatchya need, Captivator?” She comes up with stupid nicknames like that for everyone. He rolls his eyes good naturedly. You can’t help but wonder what nickname she would come up with for you.

“Got any new codeth I can theal?” He asks, shutting his notebook.

She shrugs her shoulders, looking pleased with herself. “I might, but it’s not like you’d ever be able to _steal_ them anyway.” You’re sort of surprised he let’s her make fun of his lisp so easily; normally he doesn’t put up with that shit. They must be better friends than you thought.

“Oh thure,” he says, “but my friend KK here’th gotten the thudden urge to learn more about coding.”

You shoot him a look of surprise before mouthing “WHAT THE FUCK?” and giving him the widest, most “YOU CUT THAT SHIT OUT RIGHT NOW” look you can possibly manage without her catching on.

He only continues. “Of courthe, I’m buthy, being the thuave fucking matethprit I am. You wanna help a pal out, teach him thome thit while I’m preoccupied?”

She glances at you, then at him again, and bites her lip, and the black lipstick stains her teeth. She licks it away quickly, probably having known that would’ve happened. “Don’t see why not,” she agrees, before turning to you. “So do you wanna start my teacher-in’ lessons sometime soon or…?” Her New York accent is thick and vaguely intimidating, but mostly because you haven’t directly talked to her since, like…well, probably never.

“Uh…”

“Thoon’th fine,” Sol answers for you.

“’Kay, sweet!” She grins and gets up from her seat to sit in the desk in front of you, turned around to face you and your face is red. “I’ll need your number or somethin,’” she says.

“Yeah, uh, sure,” you try to answer, and shuffle around awkwardly for a piece of paper to write it down on. She pulls out a (pink) sharpie and grabs your hand instead of waiting.

“’S quicker this way,” she mumbles, scribbling quickly, “’cause I think I hear the teacher gettin’ back.”

Sure enough, the teacher comes back almost directly after, and she just has time to get back in her seat and go back to looking like she’s busy. You’re still sitting there, kind of dazed and confused, and the teacher snaps at you to get to work. You don’t even have it in you to reply with something snarky; you just nod and look down at your notebook and start doodling again until he gets off your back.

When he does, you look at your hand, still tingling from the contact, where she wrote her cell number in messy cursive letters, followed by a “hmu when u wanna get 2gether” and a cute winky face. She didn't bother signing her name.

Her hands were warm.

**Author's Note:**

> they totally get together to "learn abotu coding" and makeout insead


End file.
